


still burning bright

by orphan_account



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:46:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7160573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waiting for England to walk into a prank gets boring after a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	still burning bright

**Author's Note:**

> I am completely serious about this ship. I swear.
> 
> _So with the fire still burning bright,_   
>  _I wanna gaze into your light_

They sprint around a corner and duck into their designated hiding place, a dark hallway closet used to store old papers and electronics. The door slams shut behind them. Romania flops down on a stack of reports, giggling childishly. Hong Kong leans against the door, watching him for a few seconds, and then also starts to laugh. He sinks down until he’s sitting on the floor, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Oh my g— Ssh,” Romania hiccups. “Be quiet, Hong Kong, we don’t want anyone to know we’re here.”

Hong Kong presses his lips together and tries to think about sad things, but then he catches Romania’s eye in the half-light, and they both start giggling again.

“Ssh!” Romania tries again, even though he’s laughing the loudest.

“You ssh,” Hong Kong replies.

Eventually, they manage to quiet down. Romania runs his hands through his hair, gathering it up at the back, then letting it fall. He smiles down at Hong Kong, who quirks his lips in response, afraid he’ll start laughing again if he really smiles.

“Now we wait,” he says. Romania nods.

They’re an odd duo, Hong Kong knows this, and he’s not entirely sure when they became friends, only that Norway and Iceland had something to do with it, and that their mutual affinity for badgering England had really put the thing in motion, but now it’s hard to believe he hardly knew Romania from any of his neighbours a year ago. England probably wishes it had stayed that way, Hong Kong thinks in amusement.

“Wanna play a game?” Romania asks. He’s already started his telltale foot shuffling, indicating that he’s bored.

They have played every single game they could think of already, from Truth or Dare to Charades to Tic-Tac-Toe, so Hong Kong shakes his head. His eyes are fixed on Romania’s wriggling leg, clad in what looks like _leather_. He had not noticed before. Who even wears leather trousers? He rather wants to reach out and touch it, feel if it’s real.

He decides to just ask instead. Romania looks amused.

“It’s fake, sorry to disappoint. I do think I’ve got some real leather pants back home. I had a weird phase in the nineties.”

Hong Kong tries to remember if he ever noticed Romania in the nineties, even though he knows it’s a futile exercise. All of Eastern Europe kind of blends together in his memory – still does nowadays, though he’s loathe to admit. Then again, it goes both ways; he doesn’t know Albania from Macedonia, but he doubts Macedonia can tell him apart from Macau.

Not Romania, though. Not anymore.

“I spy,” the nation in question says, but he grins and shuts up when Hong Kong glares at him.

They’re quiet for a while.

“With my little eye.”

“Shut up,” Hong Kong says. It’s half-dark in here anyway. Romania isn’t spying anything.

He grins. “Make me.”

A jolt of shock passes through Hong Kong, and he glances up sharply. Romania is still grinning, lopsidedly, his teeth glinting in the low light.

He cannot possibly know about Hong Kong’s attraction to that grin, or the subconscious way he touches his teeth with his tongue when he laughs, or the _leather trousers_. It’s a passing fancy, Hong Kong is sure of that. Romania is an interesting person, and certainly not unattractive, and he’s nice and often funny and Hong Kong is glad they’re friends, but it’s not more than that. Even if he does wonder what those teeth would feel like on his skin sometimes.

Passing fancy.

“Do I have something on my face?” Romania asks, sounding amused, and Hong Kong realises he has been staring. He tucks his hair behind his ear, looking away.

“No. Sorry.”

Romania hums, still amused, then says, “Come up here. The ground doesn’t look comfortable.”

It isn’t, so Hong Kong stands up, stretches, and then perches on a stack of boxes opposite Romania.

They would have left the building, but then they would not be able to witness the immediate aftermath of England walking into his office to find _everything_ covered in sticky notes. It takes ages to get in here, due to security and stuff. So they’re stuck here, for the time being.

The prank, as it were, is not one of their strongest or most original, but Hong Kong has been dying to do something like it, and it is much easier to get done when your accomplice can do magic.

Romania stretches his right leg, resting his boot on the boxes next to Hong Kong, who looks at it rather dumbly, then glances up at Romania. The nation leans back on his hands, tilting his head to the ceiling. Hong Kong fumbles for something to say, to distract himself.

“So, uh, like, how is Moldova?” It’s all he can think of, but Romania tilts his head back to look at him, so he considers it a success.

“He’s fine, yeah.” A fond grin. “He’s grown quite a bit over the past few years. Might become taller than me yet.”

“Nice,” Hong Kong replies.

Romania looks at him for a while, searching his face for – something, and then he must see it, because he stretches his other leg as well, bringing it up to rest on Hong Kong’s other side, effectively bracketing him. He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees and he has _no right_ to look that good.

“Hi,” Hong Kong says when Romania doesn’t make to explain his behaviour.

“Hey.” _Absolutely no right_ , and why does he smell like cinnamon?

“It, it doesn’t get any more cliché than this, does it? Stuck in a closet?”

“We’re not _stuck_ , though,” Romania returns. He laughs, in that hoarse way of his, when Hong Kong glances at his legs pointedly. “I’ll give you that. Still, you could leave any moment. The leather pants aren’t gonna stop you.” He nudges Hong Kong in the side with his calf.

“Fake leather.”

“Fake leather,” he acquiesces. “My point stands.”

Hong Kong finds that he is touching the fake leather in question suddenly, and rather unexpectedly. He does not remember moving his hand, but there it is, running slowly up over Romania’s shin, fingertips curling around his calf. A quick glance up reveals Romania is watching it, too, and he doesn’t move. Hong Kong’s fingers slide up until they rest on a pointy knee. His heart is beating so loudly that he’s half convinced Romania will hear it any moment now.

“Hong Kong,” the nation says quietly, and then he falls silent.

“There’s, like, only one thing left that people supposedly do in hallway closets,” Hong Kong answers, not sure where he’s finding the courage to do so and not taking his eyes off his own fingers. He hears Romania’s breathing hitch.

“I guess. Do you— Do you want to?”

“I—” Hong Kong looks up at him at last. Their faces are closer than he anticipated. He can see, very clearly, the way Romania’s nose is just a little crooked to the left, and the way his light eyes search for an answer.

Passing fancy, Hong Kong thinks, and then he nods.

Romania’s lips part, forming an ‘o’ of surprise.

“Do _you_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathes, so fast on the heels of the question that Hong Kong almost misses it. “I’ve _been_ wanting to. It’s not that I’m— I am not—”

“Not in love,” Hong Kong guesses, and he guesses correctly, because the other nation nods. “Just attracted.”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

They stare at each other for a long while, and then Romania leans forward slowly, _very_ slowly, to brush his lips against Hong Kong’s. Hong Kong moves into the touch. Romania’s lips are warm, and very soft, and the smell of cinnamon is almost overwhelming, this close. There are no fireworks or shocks through his body, but it’s nice. He knows what those lips feel like now, which is what he was going for.

Romania leans forward even more, pressing their mouths more firmly together, tilting his head into the kiss. His hands come up to cup Hong Kong’s jaw, fingers just carding through his hair. Hong Kong, for his part, rests both his hands on Romania’s knees, using them to keep himself upright.

The nation doesn’t _taste_ like cinnamon, he notes absentmindedly.

There’s a hint of teeth on his lower lip, at the same time expected and unexpected, and his fingers clench down on the fake leather of Romania’s trousers. Romania pulls away to look at him, breathing slightly uneven, and then he smiles, showing teeth.

“Good?” he asks.

“Totally.”

Their noses touch, and Romania huffs a laugh before Hong Kong closes the gap again. The teeth are back on his lip immediately, gently running over the sensitive skin, and Hong Kong is mildly surprised to find he likes it a lot. When he tries to lean forward again, he almost tumbles off his stack of boxes, and though Romania’s knees keep him mostly upright, their teeth clack together unpleasantly, and both of them draw back, grimacing.

Hong Kong rubs his mouth and stands up, because a little setback like this is not enough to stop him wanting Romania, who appears to feel the same way, because he reaches up to his neck and drags him down.

There’s tongue, this time, and Hong Kong buries his hands in Romania’s choppy hair, angling the man’s head boldly to where he wants him. Romania pulls him closer still, trapping him against his body between his legs, hands now running over his back.

Romania curses under his breath when they part. His lips are shiny in the dim light, which sends an interesting twitch through Hong Kong’s body – _he_ did that, he is the reason Romania not only looks charmingly lopsided as usual, but positively dishevelled.

The room is quiet, and their breath echoes around them as they stare at each other.

A giggle escapes Romania, and Hong Kong grins.

“This is weird,” Romania says.

Hong Kong can’t deny that, but he just tucks his fingers behind the man’s ears and kisses him again, because it’s weird in a good way – weird in the best way possible. His back is bent quite awkwardly, but he can’t bring himself to care, because Romania is curling his legs around his knees to pull him closer, and they buckle and rest against the stack of stuff Romania is sitting on. The man’s hands find the hem of his t-shirt and slowly slide underneath it, following the curve of Hong Kong’s back upwards. He can’t help but shiver a little.

“Is this okay?” Romania asks, half against his mouth, and he presses his hands tight to Hong Kong’s shoulder blades to emphasise what he means.

“Mhm,” Hong Kong answers. He stands up straight and looks down at him. “Yeah.”

A grin. “Might as well go all the way, huh?” He fits his hands around Hong Kong’s ribs with a look of amused wonder. “Who even thinks that; oh, we’re in a storage closet and have played I Spy twenty times already, let’s have sex instead?”

“Weird people, that’s who.” Hong Kong cards his fingers through Romania’s hair absentmindedly. It’s very dry.

“True.” He opens and closes his mouth a few times. “So... We _are_ gonna have sex?”

“How long do we have until England’s due back?”

One hand leaves its place on Hong Kong’s skin so Romania can check his watch.

“Less than twenty minutes.”

“Hm.”

“So it’s gonna have to be quick.”

Hong Kong feels his lips stretch into a smile. “Better get started, then.”

So Romania does, replacing both his hands on Hong Kong’s back and dragging him down, bypassing his lips entirely to run his teeth over the sensitive skin of his neck. Hong Kong’s breath hitches – this is new, no one he’s been with before has ever used their teeth like this, but he likes it, and he supposes he isn’t entirely surprised either. He’s fantasised, and has always pictured Romania to be the sort of person who would be into that sort of thing. He just hadn’t been sure if _he_ was the sort of person who was into that sort of thing, but that is settled now.

Romania bunches his shirt up under his arms and turns his attention to Hong Kong’s chest. Slightly amused, Hong Kong struggles his shirt over his head and flings it on the boxes behind him, then shudders a little because Romania seems to be touching him _everywhere_ at once, and he can feel the low-key arousal that has been there since – well, since the moment he first saw Romania waiting for him today, if he’s honest, change into something more visceral, more urgent.

In no time, fingers are fumbling with his jeans, though Romania’s mouth is still pressed to his breastbone, and he’s looking up questioningly.

“What?” Hong Kong asks stupidly.

Romania grins, points his tongue and licks a very precise stripe up the middle of his chest, drawing a gasp out of him, while his fingers succeed in opening the button on his trousers.

“You’re not bad-looking,” he says while he drags his knuckles over Hong Kong’s cock through the fabric – he’s not quite hard yet, but getting there.

“Is that, like, a compliment?”

“Sure is.”

“You suck at giving compliments.”

A wicked glimmer in his light eyes. “I can suck at more than that.” Another steady drag of his knuckles. Hong Kong clenches a hand at the base of the man’s neck.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“Wish you would.”

Hong Kong shoots him a tired look, because _honestly_. “You’re terrible.”

“And yet, look where you are.”

Well, there’s no arguing on that point, is there? Hong Kong shakes his head and bunches his hands into Romania’s shirt, then smiles delightedly when the man takes it off and throws it on the ground. There are tan lines on his arms and chest, obvious even in the gloom, and it’s oddly charming to Hong Kong.

“How much time do we have?” he asks, and Romania sighs exaggeratedly and answers,

“Fifteen minutes. Let’s stop talking.”

That sounds like an excellent idea. Romania starts to fumble with his zipper, but Hong Kong swats his hands away and drops to his knees. He enjoys the startled gasp that falls from Romania’s lips, and the mumbled question that breaks off when he puts his hands on the leather trousers, swiftly running up over the man’s thighs and making quick work of the buttons. Romania obediently lifts his hips, seemingly stunned into silence, so that Hong Kong can pull his trousers down, just a bit.

There are red briefs underneath – Hong Kong spares a brief moment to appreciate just how tight the leather trousers are and of course you can’t wear boxers underneath that, or maybe Romania just prefers briefs – and underneath those, it’s all hot skin and enticing musk. Romania makes a choked-up noise when Hong Kong pulls the last layer of fabric out of the way, and a hand clenches down on his shoulder. Hong Kong looks up at him, and is pleased to see he’s wearing an expression halfway between surprise and pleasure.

“You’re efficient,” he chokes out, and Hong Kong chuckles.

“You still totally suck at giving compliments.”

Without further ado, he takes Romania’s half-hard cock into his mouth, and the comeback he could _hear_ Romania thinking of dies a quick and silent death, replaced by a shuddering gasp.

The tangy-salty taste of him floods Hong Kong’s mouth, although he still smells mostly cinnamon. He’s going to ask him about that later, he decides. Right now, he works the man to full hardness quickly – he’s quite pleased that he has such an immediate effect on Romania – and then starts in earnest, sucking and licking messily, spurred on by Romania muffling encouraging noises into one hand and the nails of the other one digging into his shoulder as if he’s going to fall over if he doesn’t hold on to something.

Hong Kong presses the heel of his hand into his own erection, trying to relieve some of the sudden strain.

Romania muffles a sound that sounds like his name, and he feels a surge of pride and lust. He looks up, catches Romania’s eye and holds it while continues blowing him. The hand not necessary to stroke his cock comes to rest on the man’s thigh, half on his trousers and half on warm, smooth skin.

Romania is blinking incessantly, his breathing is erratic, and it’s incredibly attractive on him.

“I’m— Oh, _fuck_ , Hong Kong,” he pants, biting down on his index finger after he does, probably to keep himself quiet. Figures he’d be a talker, Hong Kong thinks. He’s close, though – which is good, considering their limited time frame, though Hong Kong would have liked it if it could last longer. It might as well be the only time they ever do this, after all.

A hand pushes at his shoulder, trying to get him away from Romania’s cock, but he just looks up at the man in question defiantly. Romania opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a high-pitched moan – almost a whine – as he comes down Hong Kong’s throat. He doubles over, almost pressing his nose to Hong Kong’s hair while he sucks him dry, trying not to make a mess of his nice trousers.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Romania mumbles, and Hong Kong smiles a little. Surely, he’s not _that_ good at giving blowjobs. “You swallowed.”

“Nothing to clean up with.”

Now he does press his nose into Hong Kong’s hair, and there’s a smile in his voice when he replies, “I can do magic.”

Of course. “But I don’t know what you, like, can or can’t do with that.”

“Fair enough.” Romania hooks a finger under his chin and kisses him briefly, then says, “Sit down. I ought to repay you.”

Hong Kong scrambles up and sits down where he sat earlier, and Romania drops to his knees without bothering to tuck himself away.

The loose jeans and boxers Hong Kong is wearing come off easier than Romania’s trousers, and then the man’s hot mouth is on him all of a sudden, sending shocks of pleasure up his spine. He clasps a hand over his mouth, like Romania had done, to prevent himself from making an all too loud sound. He never is very loud, but it’s better to err on the side of caution with this, he thinks.

Romania looks up at him like he looked up at Romania, and the sight of him is almost more arousing than the actual blowjob. His eyes are hazy, his lips shiny as Hong Kong’s cock slides between them, back and forth, back and forth. His cheeks hollow a little, and Hong Kong curls his toes inside his sneakers in pleasure. And Romania can take him _deep_ , almost his entire length disappearing into the wet heat of his mouth. Hong Kong is not going to last long.

Romania runs his hands over Hong Kong’s waist, back down over his hips, then one goes down very briefly to brush against his balls and the other one curls around his cock, jerking in time with Romania bobbing his head.

Pinpricks of heat and pleasure start seemingly in his toes and crawl slowly up his legs, and Hong Kong clenches a hand down on Romania’s neck to warn him, but the man winks and shows no sign of letting up.

Something buzzes, but neither of them care to notice.

The heat reaches Hong Kong’s thighs, where it feels like it’s gathering, waiting for the right moment, waiting for—

With a deep, shuddery breath, Hong Kong comes, spilling himself into Romania’s mouth while his hand clamps down on the man’s neck, in such a way that it _has_ to hurt.

“ _Please_ ,” he whispers, with no idea what he’s asking for. Romania releases him, then props himself up and presses their lips together, their tastes mingling.

He looks even more dishevelled than earlier, his hair standing on end and a decidedly post-coital glaze in his eyes. When they walk out of here, it’s going to be quite obvious what they have been up to – wait.

“England,” Hong Kong slurs at Romania, who grins.

“No, Romania.”

“No, I mean, _England_.”

Romania watches him dumbly for a few seconds, then curses under his breath and fumbles his phone out of the bag he’d been carrying, checking for a message from England’s assistant, who promised to let them know when he arrived.

“He’s here. Right on time.”

“That sucks.”

“Hmh. Wanna go?”

“Of course!” He studies Romania’s face closely, for just a few seconds. “Do you?”

“Hell yeah. Let’s, uhm...” He stands up, fastens his trousers, tries to tame his hair and locate his shirt. Hong Kong follows his example, and soon they’re both more-or-less presentable. Hong Kong moves to brush some dust off Romania’s shirt, but the man catches his wrist, tugs him closer, and kisses him soundly.

“We’ll talk about this later, right?”

“Totally. Let’s go.”

They sprint through the hallways and arrive just in time to hear England yell,

“What the _bloody buggering fuck_ is this?”

Hong Kong smiles to himself, and Romania grins. England stomps out of his office, immediately catching sight of the two of them.

“Not again!” he exclaims, though he sounds more resigned than angry. “I thought I had raised you better than this, Hong Kong.”

He shrugs, and Romania laughs.

“I suppose... It is sort of funny,” England says, glancing back into his office. “At least it’s colourful.”

“See?” Romania asks. “We brightened your day, don’t deny it!”

He shakes his head in resigned amusement. “Right, I’ll go get a cup of tea and try to think of a way to fix this, then.”

That was it? Really? Hong Kong had at least expected him to order _them_ to clean the sticky notes up. Instead, when England has brushed by the two of them, he stops and turns around.

“Hong Kong, mind, your shirt’s on inside-out,” he calls, and Hong Kong feels himself flush, but England’s not done. “And Romania... Your fly is open.” He walks along, then stops again and adds, “Oh, and you’ve got a little something... Right there.” He gestures at his own face, flashes a beatific grin, and disappears around a corner.

“Oh my god,” Romania says, “please tell me he’s lying.”

Hong Kong peers at his face. “Uhm, no. Sorry.”

“Oh my god.” He wipes it clean.

“Could’ve been worse, isn’t it? Could have been America. The whole world would know in, like, three minutes.”

A lopsided grimace. “England is surprisingly shrewd sometimes. I feel like this will come back around one way or another.”

“Well. I think we’d better get out of here, then. ”

Romania grins and slings an arm around him. “That’s the second best idea you’ve had today. Let’s go.”


End file.
